Through Pain comes Growth
by ToothFairy
Summary: Post Day 2. When Michelle accepts a field assignment, neither she nor Tony are prepared for the disastrous consequences, and the impact these consequences will have on them as individuals and in their relationship with each other... Told from Tony's POV.
1. The Nightmare Begins

_Happy New Year everyone! Man, does it feel good to be back:D _

_On a more personal note: I would like to dedicate this story to bookworm03, without whose nagging (and I mean this in the best possible way) this idea probably would have never found its way outside my head… So thanks for guilting me into actually writing it:p_

_I'm not really thrilled with this first chapter, though. I had originally planned for this to be a one-shot, but well… It started to become way too long, and now it looks like it's gonna be a 5-chapter story! Beware, however, that this first chapter might just be frightfully boring. I'm much more optimistic about the second, which will hopefully be up in a week or so… :)_

**Chapter 1: The Nightmare Begins…**

His breath caught in his throat and he gripped the table, hoping for a clarification, an indication that it was a misunderstanding and all was once again going according to plan. Delaying the moment.

His mind fogged and his hands were suddenly shaking when it didn't come, when seconds past and her voice could not be heard through the two-way. He knew that the moment had come, that hated moment that haunted his dreams even on the calmest of nights.

It was that moment when it got out of hand, that subtle shift between fear of the unknown, fear of the potential – and fear of the present.

They had argued a lot about this moment in the past. She hated it too, he knew, but she wouldn't allow it to interfere with her duty. He had tried everything during the first months of their relationship. Bullying her into staying. Pleading her to stay. Even forbidding her to go. But it was one of the few things she was firm about.

And eventually he grew tired of fighting her. She was so strong when she wanted to be, so much stronger than him. He still didn't like it. He still scowled, glared at her, though he was sure that is eyes gave away more fear than anger. But she would pretend not to notice.

Most of the time, the operation went off without a hitch, sparing him of the moment. Most of the time she would return to CTU and to him with tired eyes but without so much as a scratch.

But now, as the moment paralyzed him with fear, he remembered why it was so important she stay safely behind her desk at CTU. Why it was so important he never give up. The moment always caused such a self-loathing inside him – why hadn't he fought harder?

Because once the moment arrived, there was no turning back. Perhaps that was the worst part of it all. That deep, feverish longing for just a few seconds before, when everything was still under control and he still had the opportunity to get her the hell out of there.

--

It had been a slow day at CTU till around noon.

Jack Bauer had come up to his office, informing him that they had a 'situation'. When he had asked what kind of situation, Jack had said grimly, "Nick Welsh."

He felt his mood immediately turn sour.

He had never liked Nick Welsh, even before the guy turned out to be a mole. Welsh had been an analyst when Tony started at CTU, and they had taken an immediate dislike to each other. Welsh was arrogant, sexist and couldn't keep his hands off their female colleagues. While a much younger Tony had worked day and night to earn a little credibility, Welsh – who obviously had many friends in high places – seemed to be climbing the ladder with an ease that bordered on ridiculous.

That was, until he was caught hacking into files he had no clearance for and sending them to a group of Nazi sympathizers who were planning on bombing several synagogues in the general vicinity.

In court, Welsh somehow managed to victimize himself, claiming that he had no idea of the cruel intentions of the people he was working with. To both Jack and Tony's disgust, he only got five years and was paroled after two.

"I just got of the phone with an informant of mine," Jack said, getting straight to the point. "He told me Welsh is meeting with a few members of a newly formed neo-Nazi organization in a bar somewhere in east LA. Tonight."

Tony knew Jack had been keeping some light tabs on the guy since he got out of prison. Jack had just been promoted to CTU Director when Welsh got caught, and Tony knew he'd always been stung that the whole thing had been happening right under his nose.

He sighed, knowing Jack wouldn't be Jack if he wasn't already planning on taking action. "Okay, Jack. What do you wanna do?"

Jack rested his hands on Tony's desk and leaned forward, looking him straight in the eye. "I thing we need to get someone over there."

"Undercover?" Tony raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it a little early for that?"

"No. Not undercover. Not yet, anyway. I want someone to go into that bar tonight, after Welsh has had a few beers. They might pick up something."

"Okay." Tony could find no fault with this idea. After all, there were no active protocols so there was nothing pressing that they needed to deal with. "Well, obviously we can't send you in. Um… What about Chase? He even has a skinhead haircut, he'll fit right in."

Jack didn't laugh. He shook his head slowly. "No, Tony. I'm talking about a woman. Think about it… Welsh's hormones have always been out of control. And what's more, he thinks women are stupid so he won't be too careful about what he says around them. The best chance we have to find something out is with a woman."

Tony nodded. "Yeah, alright." He reached for the phone. "I'll call Dani."

"No, wait," Jack said quickly.

Tony looked at him in surprise. "What?"

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Tony, Dani's not right for the job."

Danielle Rogers, their only female field agent – who was tall, broad-shouldered and tough as nails. Who had short hair like a man's, and large, rough hands. Who was, unless Tony was very much mistaken, gay.

"She's not the type Welsh goes for," Jack continued, "We need someone a little more feminine, a little more… attractive."

Tony looked at him and suddenly realized what he was getting at. In fact, now that he understood he found it almost unbelievable he hadn't realized it before.

"No way, Jack." His voice was hard and he could feel a fierce glare burning from behind his eyeballs. "You can just put that out of your head."

Jack tensed and squared his shoulders, though he was quite able to look his friend in the eye for a moment. Then he forced himself to meet the other man's gaze "It's her job, Tony."

"I said no," he growled, "My God, Jack, this Nick Welsh we're talking about! Are you really going to stand there and talk about sending my wife out on a mission to seduce Nick Welsh?"

"Look, I don't like it either. But the truth is, Michelle is the best person for the job!"

Tony abruptly pushed his chair back and got up from his desk. Turning his back to Jack, he shoved his hands in his pockets and absentmindedly watched the activity downstairs in the bullpen. His eyes automatically sought out his wife, finding her talking to Adam. His breath caught in his throat as she brushed a curl away from her eyes.

Jack came over and stood next to him.

"I will do everything I can to protect her, Tony, I promise."

Tony snorted. "What a comfort."

At this, Jack's eyes hardened, and his voice was strained when he spoke. "Listen to me. I don't want to bring Chappelle into this but I will if I have to. And Tony, we both know he's gonna give me the okay on this."

Tony swore inwardly, trying to shush the dilemma that was roaring inside him. Then he turned, taking painfully slow steps towards his desk before reaching for the phone and dialing her extension.

--

Naturally, she agreed. He hadn't expected anything else. She listened quietly while Jack explained the situation, nodding, agreeing with Jack's tactics. And avoiding her husband's eyes.

He wanted to get her alone for a minute, to try and talk her out of it. But all logic told him it would be useless anyway, and I he didn't know if he had the energy to be angry with her on top of everything else.

But he did want to make one thing clear to both Jack and Michelle, something to what he would not accept no as an answer.

"I'm coming with you."

Jack was confused. "What?"

"Chappelle is gonna be here in about two seconds once he finds about this, to oversee things. And Gael can handle whatever spills over."

Silence hung in the office for a few seconds, until finally Jack spoke.

"Tony, I don't think that's a good idea."

Tony's reply was quick in coming. "Well, I really don't care. Nick Welsh is not to be trusted and I want to be there to make sure he doesn't try anything."

Jack glanced over and Michelle, who looked back at him, wide-eyed. After a moment, he broke eye contact, and, to everyone's surprise, quietly said, "Fine. You can run point from over there."

The next few hours were spent prepping, going through file after file on both Welsh and the organization he was meeting with. It was well into the night when the two CTU vans left for the bar – Tony, Jack and Michelle all in them

She was quiet, Tony noticed, as he looked over at her. Focused. She was wearing a short, black leather mini-skirt and a low-cut red top, and he guts twisted whenever he thought about the reactions she would undoubtedly provoke amongst a bunch of drunk, horny men. Her hair was down, wild curls framing her face and tumbling haphazardly over her shoulders. Her eyelashes were overdone with mascara and her lips were painted bright red. Large, silver hoops dangled from her earlobes and two long, thin high heels supported her weight as she walked. Her wedding ring had been removed since before they left CTU.

They parked the vans around the corner to the bar, making sure they were out of sight. He hung back as Jack talked her through what was going to happen one last time, feeling sick to his stomach.

"We'll be here the whole time," Jack was saying, "We'll be ready to move in at the first sign of trouble."

She nodded calmly, indicating that she understood, but Tony couldn't help but notice the way she couldn't stop fiddling with a strand of hair.

"Okay, Michelle," Jack said, "It's time for you to go. Good luck."

These words struck Tony into action. He called out her name and followed her outside, closing her doors of the van behind them before turning to face her. An awkward silence hung between them. Tony shuffled his feet until he leaned in and said in a low voice, "Be careful. Don't take any unnecessary risks."

There were so many more things he wanted to say, things that he should be able to say, but couldn't.

_I love you. Please don't to anything stupid because I don't know what would become of me of something happened to you. I don't think I remember how to live without you._

But he just reached out and brushed his thumb over her cheek, seeing her eyes close for a moment as his skin touched hers. Her eyes opened, and his hand dropped, and then there was nothing left for them to do but part.

"Go on," he said softly, hating himself for having to utter those despicable words.

She looked as if she wanted to say something, but then just slowly turned and walked away. He watched her until she disappeared around the corner, feeling as though the world was slowly crashing around him.


	2. When the Volcano Erupts

_Thanks so much to those who reviewed! You people make me a very happy writer… :D :D :D_

_This chapter is the main reason I rated this fic T, so word of warning; it contains some violence (don't panic, just read!). _

_I'm aiming for weekly updates but don't kill me if I don't live up to this… I have the whole story pretty much written but things are so busy at the moment that even simple editing is something I consciously have to make time for (oh how I long for the carefree days of Christmas break… lol). _

**Chapter 2: When the Volcano Erupts**

He ran the block to the bar with blood pounding in his ears, fear building up inside him until he was sure he was going to explode.

_She's in the ladies' room. She's in the ladies' room._

He repeated the sentence over and over to himself as he ran, almost clinging to it to keep himself sane. Flashes of the last few minutes shot through his head.

_Everything was going so well. She was winning them all over. Then she excused herself to go to the bathroom. They followed her, only she didn't know, and neither did we. They snuck up on her, jumped on her. She fought but lost the wire. _

_And after that… nothing. _

_Silence_.

He reached the bar along with Jack and the others, and instinct kicked him into being still and discreet. They quietly made their way to the restrooms. Jack gave the okay and they burst in, scaring only a young girl who barely looked more than sixteen.

Michelle was nowhere to be seen.

His heart stopped, and he swore loudly in blind panic. They quickly left the bathroom, moving along the walls until a door to what looked like a storage room caught their attention. Jack pressed his ear to the door and nodded, sending Tony a warning glance to wait for his signal.

His eyes landed right on his wife when the door was flung open, and it was an image that would remain carved into his brain for the rest of his life. She was being held against the wall by three men, one having his hand pressed over her mouth to prevent her from screaming. Another one was holding her squirming legs still in a bruising grip while the third was rapidly scrunching her skirt up to her hips. Her top was ripped open down the middle, revealing a large part of her bra. There was a look of terror in her eyes that he had never seen before.

Facing her stood Nick Welsh – Tony recognized him instantly, even after all those years and even from the back. He stood in front of her with barely more than a foot between them, his pants on his ankles and his boxers already halfway there.

It seemed to take Tony an eternity to reach them, and when he did he went straight for Welsh, leaving the men than were imprisoning her to Jack and the others. He grabbed his former colleague and punched him in the face with the rage and the strength of a madman. Welsh fell backwards against the wall, and Tony was about to attack when he felt himself being held back. He struggled, but was fiercely pushed in the opposite direction of Welsh with a calm, gruff order that undoubtedly came from Jack.

"Take care of your wife."

He spotted Michelle standing there with her back turned to him, one hand resting up against the wall, breathing hard and shaking like a leaf. Realizing that Jack was dealing with Welsh, he made his way over to her, feeling it all happen as if it were in slow motion. He instinctively approached her from the side instead of the back, tugging at her elbow without a word and pulling her into his arms.

"It's okay," he heard himself saying, though his own voice seemed a million miles away. "It's okay, it's okay."

She whimpered and shuddered against him, her hands clinging to his cloths in a shaky grip. After a few seconds he felt her legs threaten to collapse, and he automatically reach down to lock an arm behind her knees just before she fell. He gently sat her down on what looked like a giant crate, then shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it tightly around her before once again pulling her towards his chest.

He could hear lots of commotion around him as Jack was undoubtedly initiating the arrest of Welsh and the three members of the neo-Nazi organization, but all seemed to be happing far away, as if he were in some sort of daze. All he knew for sure was her – her trembling body against his, her curls between his fingers, her short, ragged breaths against his neck.

After a while, he noticed the room starting to clear up, and, still feeling as if the whole thing was happening in slow motion, he gently lifted her from the crate and set her feet on the floor. He kept his arm around her the whole way back to the vans; he was afraid her knees would simply cave from underneath if he didn't.

Afterwards he barely remembered anything from the ride back to CTU. He just remembered holding her in the back seat, and feeling her fingertips dig into the inside of his leg.

The feeling of surrealism finally desisted once they stepped out of the van into the CTU parking lot, not only for him but her as well. Her legs seemed a bit steadier, and he even allowed her to walk into the building on her own accord, albeit with him only a few steps behind and watching her closely. When she headed in the direction of the bullpen, he reached out and gently held her back.

"Hey… I want you checked out by medical before you debrief."

She didn't meet his eyes and her voice was soft in her weak protest. "I'm fine."

He glanced at her left cheek, where a dark, hand-shaped bruise was already starting to present itself. He cringed. _No, you're not._

"It's not a request. Chloe!" he added quickly as the analyst walked by, cutting across more of her stubbornness. "Walk Michelle down to medical."

He had expected an exasperated look at least, but his wife just slowly, passively, followed the other woman down the hall without so much as a glance in his direction.

"Um… Michelle…" he heard Chloe saying with even more strain in her voice than usual. "I heard what happened… or… or rather what _almost_ happened, and I want you to know that we all support you…"

He felt his lips turn into a twisted smile before he realized his stomach was churning horribly, and he was suddenly aware of running towards the men's room. He only made it just in time, vomiting bile into the nearest toilet.

--

Jack was the one who interrogated Welsh. Tony didn't know whether to be pissed off or relieved. Part of him wanted to do it, wanted to see the man suffer at his hands, but the other part never wanted to lay eyes on him again.

It was hours before Jack came up to his office, interrupting the paper work he was trying to complete. He looked tired, his wary eyes telling Tony what he needed to know without Jack even opening his mouth.

"Well… I couldn't get anything out of him about potential terrorist activity. All we've got on him is attempted assault."

Tony swore. "Did you push him?"

Jack looked irritated. "Of course I pushed him. He just knows we've got nothing on him."

"Nothing on him?" Tony repeated in disbelief, "The man was about to rape my wife, for Christ's sake!"

"I mean, nothing that links him to terrorism," Jack countered calmly, "He'll go down for what he was going to do to Michelle, Tony, I promise you. And so will the others."

Tony fell back into his chair, his eyes burning with anger, pain. "And how long will he get this time, Jack? Two years? And paroled after six months?"

Jack turned away, not being to meet the other man's eyes for a moment. Knowing that whatever he said, it would never be good enough for Tony.

After a moment he just said, "I gave the night shift a few things to work up but I doubt they'll lead to anything. Welsh and the others are being transported to Federal as we speak. Go home, Tony. It's four in the goddamn morning. Just get Michelle and go home."

And with that, he left the office.

Tony rested his head in his hands for a moment before looking down at Michelle's station. She had been released by medical fairly quickly, who reported that physically she had escaped with only a few cuts and bruises. Emotionally, however, they weren't so sure she would be able to process what happened on her own, and they had offered her a few counseling sessions, which she had refused. Tony had promised them he would talk to her about that.

She had been debriefed by Gael. He had wanted to do it himself, but he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle what came out of her mouth without letting his emotions interfere, and he didn't want to make it any harder on her than it already was. So he decided it was best if Gael, to whom she was reasonably close but who would be able to listen to her with the distance necessary, did the task.

The debrief had finished about half an hour before, and now she was simply sitting at her station, keying away at her computer as if it were just the end of a perfectly normal day. From what he could make out of her facial expression, it was hard, emotionless, and his heart clenched.

He didn't know what to say to her. He wasn't ready to face what almost happened. Slowly, he reached for the phone and dialed her extension, hating the detachment he heard in her voice when she answered with a monotonous, "Dessler."

"It's me," he said quietly. "Shut down your system. We're leaving in five minutes."

--

The ride home was silent. She sat quietly in the passenger's seat, staring in front of her, hands clasped tightly in her lap. He wanted to find a way to make it all easier on her but he didn't know what he could possibly say.

When they arrived home he asked her if she was hungry. They hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. But she shook her head and disappeared up the stairs.

He wasn't hungry either but he did want a drink, something strong. All he found in the fridge was a bottle of white wine, so he poured himself a glass and swallowed it down in one gulp. He set the glass back down on the table and took a few deep breaths, wanting to calm himself before he went upstairs to her.

She had already changed when he entered the bedroom. Normally she just slept in panties and a talk top (if anything at all), but now she had on a sweatshirt, thick flannel pants and socks. She crawled into bed, barely even looking at him.

He slowly walked over and sat down on her half of the bed, carefully studying her face and trying to get her to look into his eyes. Finally he gave up and asked quietly, "D'you wanna talk about it?"

She bit her lip and slowly shook her head.

"Michelle…"

"Tony, please…" Even her voice was small, wounded. "Not now, I… Please?"

She finally looked at him with despair written all over her bruised face, and his heart broke for her. He couldn't say no.

"Alright." He chanced a minor contact, reaching over and covering her hand with his. "Go to sleep. I'll be there in a minute."

She nodded, and he went into the bathroom to change and brush his teeth. But when he stepped back into the bedroom ten minutes later she was still sitting upright in bed, staring at nothing in particular, and he noticed she was trembling a little. He retrieved an extra blanket from the closet, sank into bed and wrapped it around her.

They sat there together for several minutes – up against the headboard, his arm loosely around her, wanting to hold her properly but terrified of invading her personal space. He eyed her the entire time but her expression remained stoic, her eyes dead.

Until, without warning, her face suddenly crumbled and a sob escaped from the back of her throat. Acting on impulse he tightened his hold on her, feeling tear after tear land on his shoulder as she noisily came undone in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he heard her say between sobs, "I'm sorry…"

"No – don't," he managed, feeling his own throat choke up. He didn't understand how her mind worked sometimes. She almost got raped on his watch and _she _says she's sorry?

But it was all coming out now, and a torrent of words tumbled from her mouth as a relentless stream of tears coursed down her cheeks.

"I tried to fight them off, I tried… but there were… too many and I couldn't… I couldn't get away…"

He held her tighter and rocked her gently back and forth, pressing his mouth to her hair and squeezing his eyes shut to stop his own tears from falling. "I know, I know… It's okay…"

She suddenly cried out in pain and he immediately loosened his grip. "What?"

She hugged herself around her ribcage, and he carefully pushed the blanket down from her shoulders, clasped his hands around the bottom of her sweater and started to pull it up. "Let me see."

She cried and shook her head, pushing his hands away. But he remained firm. "Michelle," he said gently, "Let me see."

She warily allowed him to pull it up, revealing several dark bruises around her midsection, all in the shape of fingertips. Hatred shot through him at the sight, along with a fierce desire to get his hands on the man whose greedy fingers were bruised into his wife's body.

He pulled the sweatshirt back down and drew her back into his arms, careful not to squeeze too tightly this time. But him seeing her physical injuries only seemed to upset her more.

"I'm sorry, I…" she shuddered and he tried to rub some warmth into her, "I messed it all up. I was supposed to eavesdrop and I… I didn't find out anything… and then I almost let him…"

"Hey." His voice was sharper than he'd intended and he pulled back to make her look at him. "Don't say that. You did everything right. You understand? It wasn't your fault. You did everything right."

He wiped a few tears from her face and pulled her back against him, noticing that she gradually grew calmer. The shuddering and heavy breathing were still there, but at least she had stopped sobbing and crying out that horrible nonsense.

He didn't know how long they sat there like that, her head against his shoulder and his arms encircling her body. Until she went quiet. It seemed like hours but he realized later that it probably wasn't more than ten or fifteen minutes. After a while he grew aware of her exhaustion, seeping through her body into his. Carefully, without loosening his grip on her, he slid them down so that they were lying down, both their heads on the same pillow. He reached out one hand to turn off the bed lamp, then pulled her head against his chest, and prayed for sleep to come quickly.

--

He awoke when it was still dark outside to find her struggling against him, whimpering in her sleep.

"No…" she was mumbling, a twinge of panic in her voice, "Don't… Let go…"

"Hey," he said softly, trying to ease her struggles, "It's alright, you're dreaming."

"No!" she said, louder this time but still in her sleep, her hands trying to push him away, "Let go of me!"

And he did.

"Michelle." He used his voice to try and wake her, watching her thrash around in the bed like a trapped animal. "Michelle!" He reached out one arm and shook her, causing her to start awake, her eyes wide and afraid.

"It's okay," he said gently, "It's just me."

He watched her recognize him, recognize where she was. He held out an arm, wanting her to come to him, and she did, burying herself into his body. He wrapped both arms around her, pressed a sleepy kiss to her hair and felt sleep tug him under once more.

--

The alarm clock went off at ten-thirty. They only had to be at the office by noon since they'd been forced to stay in so late last night.

Tony glanced over at his wife, watching her rub the sleep out of her eyes. His heart ached at the sight of her. Her face was all puffy from crying and the large, hand-shaped bruise on her face was rapidly changing into a dark shade of purple.

He scooted closer to her and ran his hand over her hair. "Hey, listen… I was thinking… Maybe you shouldn't go in today…"

She sighed and shook her head, already kicking back the covers. "No. I have to go in."

He sighed as well as he watched her walk into the bathroom, wanting to insist she stay home but knowing it would be useless to try and talk her into it. He rolled out of bed and followed her into the bathroom.

She was standing in front of the sink staring into the mirror, obviously shaken by her own appearance. He froze in the doorway when he saw this, not sure what her reaction would be.

After a few seconds she inclined her head in his direction and said quietly, "Y'know, maybe I shouldn't go in."

He sighed and stepped inside, conflicted by her words. He wanted her to take the day off, knew it would be better for her of she took the day off, but it killed him that she was doing it for all the wrong reasons. Instead of deciding it was the best way to deal with the trauma of last night, she just wanted to escape the look in people's eyes when they saw her face. For in her eyes, the bruise where she had been slapped and the remnants of tears still visible from last night were a sign of her own weakness.

He decided he would just be grateful she was staying home, for whatever reason. "Alright."

He showered and shaved after she had crawled back into bed, got dressed and quietly slipped downstairs for coffee and maybe a late breakfast.

Twenty minutes later, he crept back up the stairs with two things in his hands: a thermos with hot tea, and a gun. He set both objects down on her bedside table and sat down next to her. She rolled over to look at what he was doing, looking puzzled at the sight of her gun on her bedside table. She looked up at his face, and he saw that she immediately understood when she saw the look in his eye.

She wouldn't need the gun, he would make sure of that – he would lock all the doors and shut all the windows. But she would feel safer with it.

When he spoke his voice was soft. "I want you to call me if anything's on your mind, okay?"

She nodded, and he bent over to frame her face between his hands, his next words even softer.

"I love you."

He kissed her cheek and encircled her body when she said she loved him, feeling her fingers crawl into his hair. He closed his eyes and pressed another kiss to her neck before pulling back.

"Try to get some more sleep." He ran his thumb over her lower lip, lingering, not wanting to leave her. "I'll see you tonight."

She nodded and turned over to her side, and he pulled the covers over her shoulders before getting up and quietly exiting the room.


	3. Struggling against Time

_Ladies and gentlemen, here's the next chapter! (And I'm right on time, aren't I?) :p Enjoy!_

**Chapter 3: Struggling against Time**

He entered the house quietly, just in case she was asleep. It had been an exceptionally exhausting day at work – not necessarily that long, but just exhausting. He'd had his hands full fighting through the alarming amount of paperwork regarding yesterday's disaster, and at the same time doing his best to dodge his colleague's questions about his wife's wellbeing while trying not to worry too much himself.

He had hoped she would call; he knew he would feel better if he just heard her voice. But she hadn't called, not once all day, and he told himself she had probably spent most if it sleeping away her anguish.

As he walked through the hall he became faintly aware of the sounds of the TV coming from the living room. And sure enough, he found her lying across the couch, showered and dressed in grey track pants and a soft pink T-shirt that were partly covered by the blanket that was draped across her body.

"Hey." He smiled and carefully sunk down beside her. "How you feeling?"

She smiled back – just a little, but he noticed her eyes were soft and mellow. And he immediately knew he'd done the right thing by leaving her behind and giving her some space. She sat up and scooted closer to him, framing his face with her hands and kissing him warmly on the lips.

He moaned a little into her mouth and pulled her closer, running his fingers through her hair. Savoring their first real kiss since the attempted rape. It was something he now realized he had unconsciously been waiting for her to initiate.

When they broke apart he smiled and brushed a wayward away from her eyes. "You look better."

She rolled her eyes. "And you're a liar. I've looked in the mirror, y'know."

She was, of course, referring to the bruise still visible on her cheek. He wanted to tell her that wasn't what he meant, but he got the feeling she already knew.

"What're you talking about?" he said instead, shooting her a mock puzzled look, "You're an absolute knock-out and you know it."

She smiled a little, and he placed another fleeting kiss on her lips before grabbing her hand. "C'mon," he said, gently tugging her to her feet and leading the way to the kitchen. "What do you want for dinner?"

She sat herself down on the counter as he rummaged through the fridge trying to find something edible. He did most of the talking while he cooked, mostly filling her in on how the day had progressed at CTU. But after a while he got the feeling she kept asking questions to avoid talking about herself.

"Everyone was worried about you," he offered quietly after a while, leaving out the part where he had tried to avoid their questions because he wasn't sure if he could answer them truthfully.

He saw something harden in her, but it was over so quickly that afterwards he thought he must have imagined it.

"Why?" She didn't look at him. "Nothing happened, really. I didn't get raped." She shrugged. "I'm fine."

He frowned, which she didn't see because her eyes remained in her lap. There were so many things wrong with this that he didn't know where to begin. He debated calling her on it, but after a moment of inner struggling decided to leave it and focus on her healing process.

With the food simmering safely on the stove, he took a few steps closer to her. "Y'know uh… I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

Her eyes lifted to his curiously. "What?"

He hesitated, not sure how to verbalize what he was going to say. It was a touchy subject, and he knew he would have to be careful. "Well um… Doctor Bessin from medical told me that you might wanna think about seeing someone to talk about… what happened. Y'know… a professional."

Immediately she shook her head. "I know. I told him I wasn't interested."

He looked at her. "Why not?"

"I'm just not, Tony. Okay?" Her voice was suddenly tight and she looked down at her lap.

He sighed. "Look, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. Therapists are assigned to our office for a reason, people like us see and do a lot of horrible things and it's normal to–"

"Tony, I said I don't want to!"

She looked at him now, almost angrily, before slightly shaking her head, slipping down from the counter and taking a few steps towards the door. He reflexively held her back.

"Hey, no, c'mon… Don't go…" He noticed how tense her body had suddenly become and pulled her towards him. "C'mere. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to get you all upset."

She allowed him to put his arms around her, relaxing after a moment and leaning her head against his chest as he swayed them gently back and forth. After while he stopped moving and sighed against her hair.

"Baby, I just want what's best for you…"

"I know." She lifted her head and looked up at him, her voice once again calm. "But I will be okay."

He held her gaze for moment and finally nodded, still a bit skeptical but not wanting to chase her away. He brushed his lips against her forehead and lifted her back onto the counter.

They shared a quiet, peaceful meal, watched a little TV together afterwards and finally decided to call it an early night. She slept a deep, dreamless sleep.

--

Time passed. First days, then weeks. They easily fell back into their usual routine. Life went back to normal. Other operations were planned and executed (though all with her safely inside the walls of CTU), other crooks were captured. It seemed they had put the whole trauma behind them.

Except, there were a few slight changes to Michelle that only Tony noticed. At work she was sharp as ever – focused, dedicated. But at home her moods were very variable. Some days she seemed perfectly happy. She would smile for him, laugh for him, and he'd almost be convinced that she didn't have a care in the world.

But on other days she went quiet, with somber eyes. Conversation with her was always difficult on these days, even about the most trivial things, and this baffled him. They'd always had so much to tell each other, and now tangible silences often hung between them, only she didn't seem to notice.

He supposed he had gotten his first clue that she wasn't completely alright two days after the assault. She had come to him after they'd had dinner. He was sitting on the couch, checking his email on his laptop, and she had sat down close to him and began kissing his neck and shoulders. He had known deep down that it was too soon, that there was no way she could be ready yet, but relief that she still wanted him had overridden every coherent thought. And their lovemaking had been just as sweet, just as heartfelt, just as passionate as it had always been. Except there was always a slight tenseness in her body that was never there before, and none of his gentle kisses or caresses had managed to completely drive it away yet.

She never spoke of what happened that night; it was almost as if she had forgotten it had ever occurred. He wanted to find a way to bring it up without upsetting her, but this always sent his mood crashing so fast that after a while it was easier just not to think about anymore.

He knew she wasn't trying to pull away from him. She fell asleep in his arms every night, needing him to hold her during those few minutes before sleep pulled her under, the moments he knew she felt most vulnerable, most exposed. He knew she still wanted him around.

And that, he supposed, was what stopped him from saying anything. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he was terrified that she would shut him out completely if he forced the issue on her.

It was easier to pretend that her often confusing behavior was a perfectly normal reaction to what she had been through, and that she would heal on her own if he just showed her some patience. He almost had himself convinced that if he just gave her some time, she would come to terms with it and things would get back to normal.

--

It had been a busy day at CTU, with a lot formalities, a lot of paperwork and a lot of Ryan Chappelle. Despite the fact that there were no active protocols running, they had been stuck at the office till past eight because Tony was dealing with the chain of command.

By the time they finally stepped out into the CTU parking lot they were both exhausted, only to remember that they had absolutely no food in their house. They both quickly discarded the idea of going out for dinner – after a day like this they had no desire to spend the rest of their evening in a crowded place full of noisy people.

"Take-out?" she suggested, and he groaned.

"I'm sick of take-out. It seems that's all we've been eating lately."

Finally, they decided to go to one of those stores that were open 24 hours a day (which luckily happened to be on their way home from CTU), and buy some groceries.

She looked tired again, he noticed as they stepped inside the store. With him on the phone most of the day, she had had to run CTU more or less by herself – which meant handling the usual stuff like coordinating Comm. with Field Ops as well as settling a particularly nasty argument between Adam and Chloe that had only threatened to escalate when Jack tried to resolve it.

She looked absolutely drained, and he had the feeling it would be one of their more difficult days.

They slowly made their way through the aisles, tossing ingredient after ingredient in the buggy. He was trying to decide which kind of rice he wanted with the meatloaf he was planning on making for dinner, with her a few feet away, also examining something she had pulled from the shelves. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a guy come to stand behind her, slightly to her right side, reaching for something she seemed to be standing in front of.

Without warning, she suddenly spun around, hitting the guy in the face and pushing him away with a fierce shove, sending him flying in the other direction. He landed with a noisy crash against the next shelf, causing packs and packs of pasta to come tumbling down on top of him.

When the chaos died down there was a moment of stunned silence, then Tony saw anger flood the guy's face.

"What the hell is your problem?" he yelled at her. "I just wanted some spaghetti sauce to feed my kids, is that alright?"

She stood there for a moment, her face white and her mouth slightly open, and then she turned and walked away without so much as a word.

This startled Tony into action. He hurried over to the guy and helped him up, apologizing. "Look, I'm really sorry. She didn't mean to… She… uh…" He felt a certain desperate need to defend her, to explain. _She came seconds away from being raped five weeks ago, and it was my fault, and she thinks she's fine but the truth is she hasn't really been the same since…_

Instead he just shook his head. "I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

They guy nodded grudgingly and straightened his jacket. Tony patted him awkwardly on the shoulder before heading in the direction his wife had disappeared.

He found her waiting for him by the car, staring down at her feet, barely even acknowledging is presence as he unlocked the doors. They sat down in their respective seats, and Tony jammed the key into the ignition before looking over at her. She had her left arm wrapped around herself, and her face was buried in the hand of her right. He wanted to hold her, just take away all her pain, but he had the feeling she wouldn't let him – not here, not now. He reached out a hand to her, his fingers mere millimeters away from her arm when he sighed and drew back.

"We'll talk at home." He hesitated. "Okay?"

She didn't answer, and after a moment he just sighed again and started the car.

When they got home, she went straight through the hall into the living room and up the stairs.

"Michelle," he tried, but she ignored him.

He climbed the stairs after her, finding her in the bedroom standing in front of the window. She went over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders from behind but she immediately tensed and pulled away from him, walking back into the hall.

"C'mon Michelle," he called after her, "Let's talk about this."

He followed her, refusing to give up and determined to get to the bottom of it. Determined to sort it all out.

She couldn't go on like this.

He cornered her in the hall, and, seeing she had nowhere left to go, she stood there against the wall for a few seconds, then sunk to the floor with her back still against the wall and her knees tucked in front of her. He couldn't speak as he looked at her for a moment, overwhelmed with empathy. She looked so small, so fragile, almost like a frightened little girl.

Finally, she raised her eyes to meet his, her voice soft and hoarse when she spoke. "Are you upset with me?"

Of all the things she could have said, he was positive nothing could have hurt him the way this did. He threw his head back in disbelief.

"Sweetheart, why in the world would I be upset with you?"

At this she looked almost indignant. "I attacked that guy for absolutely no reason! I… he…" He watched her start to fall apart. "His hand accidentally brushed up against me as he reached for the spaghetti sauce… I… That's all he did, and I thought… It only took a second but I lost it and I thought he was trying to…" Her voice broke and she couldn't finish her sentence.

He went over and sat down sat down next to her, reaching for her hand and kissing the top of her head when she fell against him. "Alright. Take it easy. It's alright."

They sat there in silence like this for a long time. He studied their conjoined hands, entwining their fingers, wishing he knew how make things easier for her. Wishing he knew how to talk her into doing what he knew was best for her without upsetting her further.

He was surprised when she spoke, her voice somewhat wistful, quiet, but calm.

"Tony, I think I should go see that shrink from medical. I start attacking guys in supermarkets for no reason… It's not normal. I think there's something wrong with me."

He was so happy with this decision that he could have kissed her, but he couldn't just let her last remark go by unaddressed. "Hey, you listen to me. There is nothing wrong with you, alright? You just… You've been through a lot and you need some help dealing with it. I've told you before; there's no shame in that. Okay?"

He nudged her gently with his shoulder, drawing her eyes to his and holding them there until she nodded.

"Good." He pulled her closer and played with her curls. "I'm so proud of you for doing this."

She nodded again, but lowered her eyes this time.

"You just need to learn to talk about it," he said quietly, watching sadly as pain overshadowed her beautiful face once again. "It'll get better once you learn to talk about it."

He tilted her chin towards him with his fingers and their lips met in a loving, tender kiss. He brushed the tip of his nose against hers when they broke apart and smiled into her eyes.

"On second thought, take-out doesn't sound so bad…"


	4. The Final Steps

_Just one more chapter after this one! Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing :)_

**Chapter 4: The Final Steps**

Almost a month had passed since Michelle's first therapy session. Tony had spent copious amounts of time checking out every therapist DOD had to offer, wanting only the very best for his wife. After hours of careful consideration, he finally picked out a psychologist named Susan Whitmore – mid-forties, an excellent reputation and lots of experience with sex crimes. It didn't hurt that she was a woman either.

Every Tuesday, Michelle left her station for one of the offices in medical, where she would meet the therapist for an hour of counseling. Later, at home, Tony would cautiously ask her about it, careful not to pry but not wanting her to feel like she couldn't talk to him about it, either. And at first she had been a little guarded about what she told him, but after a while she seemed to become more comfortable with the whole thing, started talking more and sharing more. He took this as a definite good sign.

It was a Monday evening; they had just finished their respective Chinese food cartons after yet another long day at work. She returned from the kitchen after having thrown away their leftovers, and joined him on the couch again.

Before he could reach for the remote control, she took a deep breath and quickly, "Tony, I've been wanting to ask you something… A favor."

He blinked fondly at her. "Shoot."

She hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "Well… I was wondering if… um… I'd really like it if you came with me tomorrow. To therapy."

He stared at her. This was the last thing he was expecting.

"Why?" he finally asked.

She shrugged, and he saw her eyes soften when they met his. "You're the most important person in my life. It would be great if you could come, just to… just to share some thoughts. I talked to Susan about it last week and she was all for the idea."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well… we can't both be gone from the bullpen at the same time, Michelle. At least one of us always needs to be there, you know that."

This was bull and he was perfectly aware of it. In theory those were indeed the rules, but if was only for an hour and there were no really urgent matters they needed to deal with, Jack could easily handle all of CTU for a little while with Gael's help.

Unfortunately she knew this too.

Her face fell and she turned away slightly. "Oh. Okay."

She stood up from the couch and headed for the kitchen, and he immediately felt guilty.

"Michelle," he protested as he got up and went after her, "C'mon, don't do this."

She was dumping a few plates in the dishwasher. "No, it's okay. I understand."

But she couldn't – or wouldn't – look at him as she turned to put a carton of cream back in the fridge.

"You know all she would do is scrutinize our marriage," he argued, "We don't need that, Michelle, our marriage is fine. More than fine."

She made to go back into the living room without answering him, but he reached out and caught her elbow as she passed him.

"Michelle–"

"I just want to know how _you_ feel about it!"

He was so startled by her sudden outburst that he let go of her arm. But she had started something now, and she wasn't going to stop.

"You keep telling me I need to talk about it! How dare you demand that of me when _you_ can't talk about it either!"

"What are you talking about?" he cried out in disbelief, indignation snapping him out of the shock of her sudden anger. "I _wanted_ to talk about it with you! For weeks all I wanted was to sit down with you and–"

"Oh, please." She let out a bitter laugh. "You wanted to talk about _me_. _My_ pain, _my_ trauma. That's always easy, isn't it? But what about _you_, Tony? What did it feel like for _you_ when you burst into that room and saw me two seconds away from being raped by a man you knew and worked with a lifetime ago?"

This stunned him into momentary silence. He turned away from her, realizing he was shaking. "Don't, Michelle. Just don't."

"Tony, we need to talk about this!" Despair had suddenly replaced the anger in her voice. "And we can't do it on our own, it's just too painful. For both if us."

She came closer to him, running her hand down his back, trying to ease his trembling form. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean accuse you of anything, I know you did the best you could…"

She seemed on the verge of tears now but he was still in too much of a confused, panicked daze to be able to deal with it. He pulled away from her and went straight upstairs to the bedroom, locking himself in.

He barely spoke to her for the rest of the night.

--

She was right, of course.

He couldn't talk about it. He couldn't even think about it; it was too ghastly.

When it snuck up on him, it left him with too many feelings to control. Anger, Guilt. Pain. Hatred. Love. Fear.

So he pushed it all away. It was easier just not to deal with it at all.

Still, not a day had passed without it entering his mind: what if they had been just a little later in finding her?

Images of a broken body would flash before his eyes, almost making him sick to his stomach.

She would have never been the same again, that he was certain of. His beautiful, radiant wife – full of life, full of smiles. He could only image what would have become of her.

Such self-loathing coursed through his veins that for a moment he had trouble breathing. It would have been on him.

He watched her now from his office upstairs, determinedly walking across the bullpen with a few files tucked under her arm. When they awoke this morning there seemed to be an unspoken truce hanging between them. They were polite to each other, as if nothing had happened the night before.

He hated that. He'd rather have her mad at him that pretending everything was fine when it wasn't.

_So pull yourself together and fix things,_ he told himself impatiently. _She's the victim here. You're the one who's supposed to support her in whatever she wants to do._

He watched her go back to her station. She used her keypad to finish up something, then grabbed her jacket and her purse. His heart was suddenly pounding as he watched her walk away.

_It's now or never. Do it… Do it!_

Without thinking, he abruptly got up from his chair and headed downstairs. She was almost in medical by the time he caught up with her.

"Michelle!"

She turned around, looking utterly surprised to hear him call her name. He went over to her and reached for her arm, pulling her slightly to the side. He scratched the side of his face uncomfortably before clearing his throat.

"Look uh… I'll- I'll come with you. Alright?"

She looked stunned for a moment, then to his concentration, said in a small voice, "Tony, I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have screamed at you like that, I know it wasn't your f–"

"No. Hey…" He couldn't stand to hear her apologize. "You were right, I… I can't…"

She didn't make him finish and just and wrapped her arms around his neck. He felt himself hugging her back, his eyes closed, his nose buried into that spot where her neck met her shoulder.

"Thank you," he heard her whisper, barely audible against the collar of his shirt. He just held her tighter.

When she pulled back, she reached for his hand and gave it a gentle tug, her lips turning upwards into a tiny smile.

"You go on, I'll be there in a minute," he told her, squeezing her hand, "I just have to call Jack and tell him he's in charge for the next hour."

--

This wasn't so bad.

They were seated next to each other on the couch, across from the psychologist. It amazed him how at ease she was, how open – his resolute wife, who only ever showed vulnerability in the presence of a few select people.

Yet she had answered honestly, thoughtfully to every question the therapist had asked her. She talked of how she had excused herself to go to the bathroom, to check in with CTU. How they had ganged up on her, how she had refused sex and Welsh had lost his temper, saying she owed it to him because she'd led him on. How they had dragged her into that storage room. How she had managed to scratch one of the men across the face in the process.

Of course, he already knew all of this. He'd read the debrief. But it was the first time he heard it come out of her mouth, and the first time he'd learned not only the facts, but also about her fear, helplessness, humiliation. That utter loss of power that he knew was her worst nightmare.

"How do you feel about all this, Tony?" the therapist asked gently when Michelle had finished her story.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. There was no easy answer to that, and he didn't even know where to begin.

"Was it hard for you to hear?" Susan helped him after a moment.

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Why?"

Again, he struggled for a moment, not knowing how to recognize the answer he knew was deep down in his gut. Then he lifted his eyes to look at the counselor, realizing it was gloriously simple.

"Because she's my wife. And I wasn't there to protect her."

There was a stunned silence for a minute. Then Michelle said quietly, the disbelief apparent in her voice, "Tony… you saved me. How can you say you didn't –?"

"And I came this close to being too late!" he snapped at her, showing her an inch of space between his thumb and forefinger.

Another silence hung in the room, before Susan leaned forward and said gently, "Tony, what happened to Michelle was not your fault. You couldn't have known it would happen, and if my memory serves me correctly, you didn't even want her to be a part of the operation in the first place."

He took this in for a moment. It was all true and yet, there was still something he desperately needed to get off his chest.

"It's just…" He took a breath. "The thought of anyone hurting her, or touching her, or forcing her into anything she doesn't want… I just, I can't…" He shook his head. "I don't know how to deal with that."

It was quiet for a moment, the only movement in the room being Michelle gently placing a hand on his thigh. He lifted his eyes to meet hers for a second and then lowered them again. He didn't know how to respond to the love and gratitude he had seen her gaze.

"So you blame yourself," Susan concluded, and he noticed she didn't even pretend it was a question.

He ran his tongue over his teeth and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess so."

Susan watched him carefully. "And do you realize now how wrong that is?"

He took a moment to answer, wanting to be truthful. Finally, a ghost of a smile washed over his face before he spoke. "Logically, I think I do. But to actually stop feeling responsible… It's gonna take some time."

--

That evening, at home, they talked about it further. It was not something they had consciously planned, though both knew when they left the psychologist's office that their issues were not yet completely resolved. It was more a natural development their mutual therapy session had resulted in.

They sat at the kitchen counter, talking quietly. They were honest with each other, and she was at ease and willing to share, but after a while he still got the feeling that she was holding something back. He told himself more than once that he was just imagining it, but it was an inkling that never really went away.

And sure enough; after more than two hours and a short silence, she finally said softly, "Can I ask you something?"

He nodded. "Sure."

She took a deep breath and eyed him carefully. "It's just… When you talked today about how you couldn't stand the thought of anyone mistreating me… Tony, it scares me a little. What if he had raped me?"

"Michelle…" He shook his head. "Look, there's no use in–"

"No, I need to know." Her eyes never left his face and for some reason he had trouble looking back at her. "If he had raped me… Would you have ever gotten over it? Would you have ever been able to look at me the same way as you do now?"

His mouth was suddenly dry and he just sat there, frozen. His mind was spinning, worst case scenarios flashing through his brain a mile a minute, and there was no stopping them this time. Bursting in that room during the horrible act, bursting in afterwards, finding her half-naked, half-broken, half-delirious… He couldn't think about that, he couldn't…

He looked at her, watching her shoulders sag, and disappointment and pain slowly cloud her gorgeous brown eyes when his answer didn't come. She slowly got up and all but fled up the stairs, refusing to meet his gaze as she passed him.

He wanted to call after her but his voice caught in his throat, and he turned away, hating himself. He sat there for a moment, almost in shock.

What if he _had_ raped her?

Amidst his confusing whirlwind of emotions, there was only one thing he was relatively certain of. He would have killed Nick Welsh. He couldn't imagine being able to live with himself knowing that his wife's rapist was still breathing.

But other than that? Would the rape have changed his relationship with her? Was the idea of someone forcing his wife to have sex so repelling to him that he would allow it to destroy the best thing that had ever happened to him?

He suddenly felt a sharp stab in his chest.

_What's the matter with you?_

_Of course it wouldn't have changed anything. You'd still love her with the same purity as you do now. Unconditionally. She'd still drive you crazy, she'd still turn you on. She'd still be the love of your life, and the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. You couldn't stop loving her if you tried._

And suddenly he realized what an idiot he was. How he'd let her insecurities distract him from the most stable, most constant thing in his life.

He got up, knowing he had to square this with her before it was too late, before she had permanently printed the thought into her brain and he'd never completely be able to get it out.

She was sitting on the foot of their bed, one hand in her lap and the other wiping across her eyes. Pain and guilt overwhelmed him at the sight. She hadn't really cried since the night of the events.

"Michelle…" He went over to her and crouched down in front of her, his one hand resting on the back of her neck. "Aw, Michelle…"

"No," she said quickly, her voice thick with tears as she tried to brush him off, "You don't have to say anything, I–"

"Just shut up for a minute and listen." He gently pulled her hand from in front of her eyes and held in firmly in her lap. When he spoke his voice was hoarse with emotion. "If he had succeeded in raping you, I would have been… devastated. But only because it kills me to see you suffer. Not because some sick bastard could ever change the way I feel about you…"

She stopped shuffling her feet and slowly looked up to meet his eyes. "Really?"

He threw his head back in disbelief. "Honey…" And his voice would have sounded disapproving if it wasn't so filled with pain. "Nothing could ever make me not want you." His thumb gently ran across her tearstained cheek, holding her gaze. "Don't you know that?"

She looked at him for a moment before a tiny sound came from the back of her throat and she lowered herself into his lap. His arms automatically went around her, pulling her close and running his fingers through her hair. And as he felt her face press into his neck, he realized with relief that for the first time since that terrible night, he felt they were finally on the same page concerning what happened.

He slowly rubbed her back and let his lips linger against the side of her face, finally knowing with certainty that everything was going to be alright.


	5. Closure?

_Well… Here's the very last chapter :) _

_I just wanted to say that this story has been by far the most challenging piece of fanfiction I've ever written – working out the plot, dealing with its increasing length as I started thinking up more and more scenes, and, perhaps the hardest of all, getting the characterization more or less right (I'm very picky about that, and this fic definitely made me think deeply about what I was writing). But hey, I like a challenge, and no one is gonna hear me say I didn't enjoy myself while writing this. :p_

_That said… thanks for sticking with me till the end, and enjoy the final chapter:D_

**Chapter 5: Closure?**

Tony was rather enjoying the first slow day they'd had at CTU in weeks. He'd had time for a decent lunch, was on schedule with his work and was even able to spare a few minutes staring at his gorgeous wife downstairs.

What more could a man want really?

The day was almost over when there was a knock at his door. It was Jack, but Tony immediately knew that he wasn't there for some kind of national emergency because Jack Bauer never knocked when there were lives on the line.

"Hey Jack," he said absentmindedly, barely looking up from the file he was looking over. "What's up?"

Jack came and stood directly in front of his desk, crossing his arms and eyeing his friend carefully. "Tony, there's something you should know."

This caught Tony's attention, and he threw his pen down on the desk and leaned back in his chair. "What?"

Jack looked at him for a moment, hesitating, and this made Tony a little nervous. Jack rarely hesitated.

After a moment he spoke up.

"Nick Welsh was stabbed and killed in the cafeteria over at Federal this morning. Apparently he got into a fight with another guy over breakfast. He bled out before help arrived."

Tony just sat there for a moment in utter shock, before forcing common sense to take over and demanding, "Who told you this?"

Although Jack rarely displayed any sort of emotion around him, Toy could sense a certain relief in him that his words had evoked no heavy reactions.

"A friend of mine works as a warden over there; he was there when it happened. He knows my history with Welsh so he called me as soon as he got off-duty. I thought you should know."

Tony nodded and stared down at his hands for a moment. He wasn't sure how to feel about this.

Jack took a step closer, his voice slightly softer and less impersonal. "Want me to tell Michelle?"

Tony waited a moment before slowly shaking his head. "No. No, I'll do it."

Jack nodded. "Fine." He waited another moment, as if wanting to say something more, but finally just left the office without another word.

Tony sat back in his chair, still trying to adjust to the idea that the man he spent the last four months hating with all of his heart, body and soul, was now dead. Although this was, in more ways than one, a blessing, he wasn't sure how to go on hating a dead person, and this left him more than a little confused and definitely frustrated.

He thought of his wife, and how he was going to break this to her. She was doing so well. She was laughing again, talking again. She had agreed with her therapist that counseling was no longer necessary over a month ago. She had taken a lawyer and was being prepped to testify in court in less than three weeks, which she was also handling with admirable courage and maturity, if some serious apprehension.

He didn't know how to explain to her that now their plans were all messed up.

Forcing himself to reach for the phone, he warily dialed her extension.

"Dessler."

"Hey…" He watched her from upstairs, seeing a small smile spread across her face as she recognized his voice, "You busy?"

"Um, yeah, I'm running some priority checks for Division. Why? Is something wrong?"

"No…" he assured her, "Nothing's wrong. Just… come up here a sec when you're done, okay?"

"Sure. But it might take another hour."

"'S okay… Take your time."

He didn't get much work done the in forty-five minutes it took her to complete the task and make her way up to his office. He wasn't sure what to feel as he watched her climb the stairs, wasn't sure if she would see her almost-rapist's death as a relief or as a cruel escape of justice.

"Hey, come on in… Siddown." He gestured to the couch as he got up to close the door behind her.

She crossed her legs and tugged a little at her skirt before looking up at him curiously. "What's going on?"

He leaned against the door, looking at her and trying to find the best choice of words.

"Welsh is dead," he finally just impulsively blurted out, wanting to kick himself as soon as the words left his mouth.

He watched the humor at him fumbling with his thoughts leave her eyes, replaced by first shock and then that same, familiar confusion that was still plaguing him.

"How?" she asked after a moment.

He scratched his neck. "Stabbed by another convict during breakfast this morning. Don't ask me for the details because I don't know. All I know is that he got into some sort of fight…"

She looked back at him in disbelief for moment before breaking eye contact and looking in front of her, still seeming confused. He watched her struggle to process the magnitude of what she'd just been told.

"Well…" she finally said slowly, "then it looks like I won't be testifying after all."

He nodded, keeping his eyes on her. The three men that had been holding her in place for the rape had all cooperated and settled for a plea bargain, but Welsh, no doubt hoping to charm his way out like he had so easily done some years before, had decided he would take his chances in court. So it was only against him that Michelle had had to testify.

He went over and sat down next to her on the couch, gently laying a hand on her back. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I…" She turned to face him though it was as if her eyes didn't really see him, "I don't know, I think I just need a little time to… to get used to the idea before I can really tell…" She held a hand against her forehead. "Is that weird?"

"No," he was quick to reassure her. God, he knew exactly how she felt. "Listen, uh… Do you wanna get out of here? I can catch up with all this stuff tomorrow." He motioned the files scattered across his desk. "It's not urgent."

When he didn't answer, he said softly, "C'mon, honey. Let's go home."

She bit her lip and nodded, slowly getting up. "I just need to brief Gael on what to tell the night shift. Fifteen minutes?"

"Alright."

--

They had barely been home for a couple of minutes when their attorney called, confirming Welsh's murder and filling them in on the details. It was Michelle who talked to him – after all, it was her lawyer – but Tony lingered close by, listening closely to her half of the conversation and trying to pick up as much as he could.

"So I guess this is all just going to go away now, huh?" she said quietly after a while, and he watched her closely at this, trying to derive how she felt about it. But her face remained suspiciously neutral.

The phone call wrapped itself up not long after; she thanked the man for all he had done and then slowly hung up.

"So?" he asked carefully.

She shrugged and turned to look at him. "So he was stabbed in the abdomen four times over a juice box. He died. And I'm off the hook."

"Uh huh." He took step closer. "And how do you feel about that?"

She sighed and shook her head, lowering her eyes. "I don't know."

He saw the conflicted emotions soaring through her and decided to back off and give her some time to cope.

"When you're ready…" His voice died away when he hesitated, but she lifted her eyes to look at him and a small smile played across her lips, reassuring him.

"I'll come find you…"

A few hours later they were both sitting in front of the TV, fed and showered. He could tell her thoughts were somewhere else besides the movie, but he remained convinced that it was best if he didn't push her.

Finally, out of the blue, she said, "I guess…" He immediately reached for the remote to turn down the sound of the TV, but she seemed unfazed. "I guess a part of me is glad that it's over and I don't have to worry about it anymore. But… I dunno, it's like another part is disappointed that now I'll never get to stand up to him, look him in the eye… show him who's stronger." She paused for a moment, looking a bit wistful. "I think I might have found some satisfaction in that, as much as the idea of it scared me to death…"

He nodded, feeling something squeeze at his heart. Every other person he knew would be relieved or even happy that they didn't have to face their aggressor on the stand. _She_ saw the whole thing, however terrifying, as a certain victory, a certain way of getting back the dignity she felt had been taken from her on the day of the assault.

She placed a hand on his arm. "What about you? How do you feel about it?"

He took a deep, thoughtful breath and said after a moment, "I think I'm just basically glad that he's dead and he can't hurt you or anyone else ever again. I know that whatever sentence the judge came back with for him would never be long enough for me, and I… I feel that this way he at least got what he deserved."

She looked at him for a moment before sighing lightly and falling against his shoulder. He slipped an arm around her and ran his lips over her hair. They sat there together in silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, before he spoke softly.

"Don't you think it's better this way?"

When she didn't answer, he went on, "He would have been out of prison in no time, Michelle. We could have been running into him on the street in less than a year."

She sighed and turned her head so that her cheek was resting against his chest. "Yeah, I guess…"

He sensed there was something more she wanted to say, and waited patiently as she struggled to express herself.

"It's just…" she finally said, "We mourn so many deaths with our jobs… and I dunno, maybe it's hard for me to see an unnecessary death as anything other than a shame, no matter who it is…"

He looked down at her head still resting against him. "Michelle, the world is better off without some people. You know that."

"I know." She sat up and looked at him. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't like that thought of me benefiting personally from anyone dying…"

He felt his heart melt a little. She really was too good for the world she lived in, the world she fought for so fiercely every day, often at her own cost. He felt an insane need to protect her against the goodness of her own heart, because sometimes he couldn't help but worry that she might let it ruin her when it came down to it.

He sighed. "Look… Whether or not you benefited doesn't matter here. He died, it was his own fault, and that's the end of it. You are not responsible for all the positive aspects of him being dead."

He let her take this in for a moment, pondering carefully at his words before her shoulders finally sagged with acceptance. A small, genuine smile spread across her face.

"In any case… we can put it behind us now."

He mirrored her smile, relieved that she had gotten the point.

And he knew it was ridiculous, but it was as if the world was suddenly painted with much brighter colors.

--

He was sitting on the porch steps after dinner, enjoying the exceptionally warm summer evening and watching stars above him. He only realized now how much a he had craved a moment like this; a moment of calm and quiet when he could sit there and do nothing but just let his mind wander.

Almost two weeks had passed since Welsh's sudden death over at the prison. He had kept a close eye on her in the days following the incident, searching for signs that she wasn't handling the idea as well as she let on, but he was almost surprised to find none. She was herself, exactly how she should be, her perfections and imperfections shining about her and keeping him so hopelessly in love with her.

He took a sip of the cool beer bottle resting beside him, smiling to himself. She was okay, _they_ were okay – and in the end, the whole mess had only strengthened and intensified their relationship. He felt even closer to her now that they had survived their first crisis not as colleagues, but as a couple. And he didn't doubt that there would be more, especially considering their jobs, but now he was more than ever certain that nothing could ever keep them apart, no matter what happened.

He was shaken out of his reverie when he heard the door open. He turned and smiled when he saw his wife stepping out on the porch to join him, barefoot and with her hair still damp from her shower. She sunk down beside him with a smile of her own, running a hand across his shoulder blades and murmuring, "What are you doing out here?"

He could smell the soft, sweet scent of her shampoo, distracting him from answering. After a moment he said simply, "I like it out here."

She smiled, sliding her hand down his arm, but said nothing.

They sat there next to each other in comfortable silence for quite a while, legs touching but otherwise no physical connections. He took another gulp of beer, wordlessly offering her the bottle afterwards. She brought it to her lips and also took a sip before handing it back to him. They continued to pass it over between them every once in a while, until it was empty.

It had started getting colder after a while and he noticed she had goose bumps all over bare arms. He smirked to himself, wondering why she hadn't said anything or at least run inside for a sweater. He silently closed his arms around her, pulling her close and rubbing his hands over her bare arms. She smiled a little and leaned into him, enabling him to press a soft kiss against a softer cheek.

"You're freezing," he mumbled into her skin, and she laughed a little.

"I'll survive…"

She shifted a little and placed her bare feet in his lap, and he could feel their iciness penetrate his work pants.

"Michelle…" he groaned, taking her feet between his hands and trying to warm them up. "There has to be something wrong with your blood circulation because this is just not normal."

She rolled her eyes. "Just because _you_ spread out heat like an oven doesn't mean everyone else does."

He chuckled, poking her in the ribs with his forefinger and tickling her a little. "What would you know about ovens?"

She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him, making him chuckle again. He watched sympathetically as she wrapped her arms around herself. "You wanna go inside?"

He was already starting to get up but she held him back by suddenly grasping his arm. "Yeah, in a minute. I want to tell you something first…"

He reluctantly sat back down, uneasy all of a sudden. Was there something he had missed? Something that had been secretly eating away at her that he hadn't caught on to?

She reached for his hand and linked her fingers through his, and his shoulders relaxed. She certainly didn't look tormented. She looked beautiful as always, even in faded jeans and a simple cotton T-shirt. Her eyes were on him, full of love and warmth, though also a glimmer of vulnerability.

"Listen um…" She looked shy all of a sudden, breaking her gaze away from him. "I've been meaning to thank you."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "For what?"

She took a deep breath and chanced a glance at him, her eyes remaining on his once she saw the way he was looking at her.

"Just… You've been so great these last few months…" She shook her head. "I don't know how I would have done it without you…"

"Aw, honey…" He started to pull her towards him but she resisted.

"No wait, let me finish…"

He reluctantly loosened his grip on her, wanting to give her the chance to clear her thoughts. She continued quietly.

"I know I haven't been all that easy to live with… and I'm sorry I had to go crazy on you before agreeing to therapy, and I… I love you so much…"

He smiled, reaching for her and drawing her closer. She came willingly this time, settling in his lap and wrapping her arms around him in return.

"I love you," he spoke against her neck. "And if you think you have to thank me for being there for you than you're an idiot…"

She smiled and pulled back after a moment, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. "I know I didn't have to. I wanted to."

She placed a tender kiss on his lips, which he intensified by moving a hand to the back of her head and tempting her mouth open with his tongue. When they broke apart they were both smiling.

"Take a shower with me."

She laughed. "What?"

"Take a shower with me," he repeated, the twinkle in his eye unmistakable.

She regarded him with deep amusement. "I just got out of the shower like an hour ago."

"Come on," he coaxed her, warm hands already finding their way up her T-shirt and running across her stomach. "You know it's the only way we're gonna get you warmed up before bed…"

She laughed harder. "Oh, as long as you can rationalize it…"

"You know you want to," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, the teasing in voice now more than obvious. He pulled her even closer and pressed a kiss against her neck before gently biting into it. His hand slowly slid between her legs. "I'm not taking no for an answer…"

She groaned in mock surrender and pulled away so she could stand up, secretly not wanting him to know how easily he still managed to turn her on. Ignoring the humored lust in his eyes that told her that he knew anyway, she headed for the door. "Alright then, Almeida, but you'd better keep your hands to yourself."

"Not a chance," he called after her, before jumping up and catching up with her. He swept her up from behind, stepped inside the house with her giggling in his arms and locked the door safely behind them.

**The End**


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